Bloom walked through the doorway. Miss Cox looked up from her seat behind the reception desk, then nodded briskly. “Here we are!” She rose and moved forward with a smile of greeting that was as false as her teeth. “I’ve been expecting you all afternoon, Mr. Bloom.” “Sorry to be so late,” Bloom said. “But how did you know who I am?” Even as he spoke, he knew the answer. After all, he had given his name over the telephone when applying for admission and told her to expect him on Saturday afternoon. So when a man his age walked in carrying a suitcase, all she had to do was put two and two together. Or one and one. He wasn’t very good at numbers, and besides, it didn’t matter. Neither did her reply, but he listened politely just the same. “I formed a mental picture when we talked on the phone the other day,” she said. “I find my intuitions seldom fail me in that regard.”
